


The Whitechurch Orphans

by bolide_belle, GlowAmber



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Child Neglect, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Orphans, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-31 08:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolide_belle/pseuds/bolide_belle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowAmber/pseuds/GlowAmber
Summary: When they have nothing else, at least they each other.[AU drabble fic exploring the Orphan AU; Wherein Cassandra is from the same orphanage as Eugene and Arnwaldo, and follows them when they run away.][drabble .ii: first meeting take two]





	1. drabble .i: first meeting take one

She is two to his five when she is brought by the guards to the orphanage. Hollow cheeked and pale with a mess of black curls and olive green eyes; if it wasn’t for how thin and sickly she looks, he knew she would be immediately snatched up. But she’s too little, too thin. Too young to talk and her parents gone like the wind, he hears the guards say. All he garners from that was that she was an orphan, like him, and she didn’t have a name.

One of the Brothers carries her and he follows, trailing after the newest addition to their home with brimming curiosity. She watches him over Herbert’s shoulder, a fist in her mouth, and he makes a face at her that the other babies always like. Unlike the other babies, she just narrows her eyes. The rest always giggle and smile so he catches up, tugging on the Brother’s sleeve.

“Isshe broke?” 

Brother Herbert makes a noise that Eugene recognizes as him trying not to sigh. He does it a lot with Eugene, tries to not yell at him, it’s why Herbert is his favorite. “No, she’s not broken.” The way he says it though makes him wonder if he’s lying. The baby is watching him suspiciously, more than babies should, her fist covered in drool. 

He is close enough to see how dirty she is, now, to see the purple marks around her wrist and on her cheeks. He’s seen them on older kids, but never on the small ones. It … upsets him, in a way that he doesn’t have words for at this age. Eugene makes a face, not the funny type for little babies, but the one that preludes a storm of tears. 

A hand on the top of his head isn’t enough to calm him, not enough to stop his sudden sniffles, but Herbert’s gentle voice makes him bobble his head fast. “Want to help me get her cleaned up?”

When she is all clean and her hair is combed and dried, Eugene is allowed to hold her. She fits on his lap but overflows into his arms, still regarding him with suspicion. Babies aren’t like this, they’re cooing noises and soft and warm. He wraps his arms firm around her and presses his cheek to the top of her head, as if he can will her better, love her whole.

“What’s ‘er name?” He asks, and Brother Herbert is across the room, picking through the box of clothes for something to fit her. When babies don’t have names, Herbert is the one who usually picks them out. Father Francis doesn’t like to waste his time, and the other Brothers have terrible taste. At least, that’s what Herbert says.

He can feel her relaxing slow in his lap, tilting into him because he is warm and she is chilly from the bath, still. “The Guard who dropped her off was calling her Cassandra.” Herbert tells him, and its a long big name for such a tiny baby, but it has a formal sound to it that suits her little serious face.

At the same time, Eugene doesn’t like it. Babies should be happy and bubbly. “Cassie,” He says it stubbornly, determined, and Herbert doesn’t say no. In fact, the little boy leans back a little in his chair and the baby reclines with him, her sticky fist curled in his shirt and her eyes closed as she dozes. She looks smaller, now, and he wants to protect her. He wants to protect all the younger kids, he can’t help it, but watching her slip to sleep slow in his arms makes him want to protect her all the much more. 

He is five to her two and he is filled with burning to protect this bruised little baby.

“Cassie-lassie.”


	2. Arnwaldo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new boy arrives and not all starts well.

He is seven to his six to her three when he arrives with tear stained cheeks and a stubborn lift to his chin. There is something angry in his eyes whenever Eugene sees him and he reminds him of the tension he gets whenever he winds a jack-in-the-box, when is the jack going to jump out at him? When is he going to snap? When is he going to crack, finally?

His name is Arnwaldo Schnitz and he is touchy about his name and he is touchy about where he comes from and he is touchy about everything. The way he edges around the others and hangs away, watching them like he is afraid and also hunting. Eugene hesitates around him, always drawn to watching in return warily. Something is wrong here; he has seen enough older kids come in that he knows sorrow when he sees it. They are always angry and sad, waiting for the moment to make others hurt like they hurt. 

Eugene isn’t afraid of him, however, that’s not why he keeps his attention on him. He could probably clean the kid’s clock, he’s not that big and he shakes when he thinks no one is looking. Eugene is just worried, however, because there aren’t many older kids left in the orphanage, just babies like Cassie. If this kid loses it on a baby, the Brothers will send him away and he has heard that life is worse for the send-aways.

He does not try to bother the boy, he just watches with Cassie’s hand in his most of the day and he stays with the younger children so he can keep an eye on them. He’s attached to her because she smiles at him, sometimes, and not at Herbert or the Brothers, and she will talk to him, and only him, in soft little babbles that he doesn’t understand yet. He still talks back to her, Herbert says she’ll get better as she gets older.

She is in his lap, hands full with a doll made of rags and scraps he has scavenged from around the orphanage. There is no face because he ran out of thread to use, but Cassie likes it all the same. She holds it up to him, the black rags of her hair reminding him of the Father’s old robes he got them from, looking at him expectantly. There is another babbled sentence, lisped because she is missing teeth, but he smiles like he knows just what she said. Herbert told him that would be best, and he trusts in the Brother.

The doll is in his hands for only a few moments, taken from her so he could examine it again and try to decipher what exactly Cassie saying, when it is suddenly no longer in his hands.

Eugene is aware, distinctly, staring at Cassie’s wide eyes and the shadow over the two of them, that someone has snatched away her doll. He doesn’t want to think its the new kid, but the shadow is large, and the babies are not so tall.

“What’s this?” 

He flinches because he knows the voice without looking, but he looks all the same. Arnwaldo is turning the doll over in his hands, and while he still has that odd look to his face, he mostly looks confused. He flicks at her arms which are not perfectly sized and tugs a little on her scrap dress as if he’s never seen a doll, “Weird looking doll.”

Cassie takes great offense to losing her doll. Her eyes narrow and she reaches out to snatch it back, but the older boy holds it out of her range. “I’m just looking,” He defends, and Eugene scans for the Brothers because he doesn’t think he’ll be just looking for long. Unfortunately, none are in sight, and he looked away for too long.

The first thing he hears is a ripping noise, then a war cry as his lap is suddenly empty-- and then he hears a loud howl of pain as he snaps his gaze back in time to catch Cassie punching the new boy as hard as a three year old can punch. She is tiny and that little fist can only go one place. 

He winces in sympathy and scrambles to his feet, scooping her up fast. “Cassie, no! You’re going to get in so much trouble!” For a toddler, she’s quite strong, wriggling around in his grip like a fish and swinging her fists at Arnwaldo as he drops backwards on his rear. The doll falls from his grip, one arm falling separately, and Eugene sees a little bit of red.

“Why’d you do that?! I made that for her, she’s just a baby! You shouldn’t ruin other people’s stuff, it’s all we’ve got!” It’s awkward to bend and scramble for the pieces of her doll, especially with the baby still swinging at Arnwaldo and howling like she wants to murder him. And she probably does, she throws temper tantrums that honestly scare him sometimes, but this is a new level of rage. She doesn’t even quiet when he stuffs the doll against her chest, though she does adjust to grab it and clutch it close.

Arnwaldo is still on the ground, gasping and writhing, clutching himself. Eugene knows this will probably only make things worse, getting beat up by a three year old is not going to sit well with anyone. The smartest option is to try and hold Cassie to him and book it for the chapel in the hopes that he’ll leave them alone for the time being. 

All of the other boy’s yelling definitely summoned the Brothers, a little too late, but he pushes through them with mumbled apologies. In his grasp, she’s gone silent again and sullen, and Eugene heaves a sigh when he can finally drop in a pew with her nestled against his side. 

“We don’t hit,” its weird to be the one who knows better, to help keep babies in line, but he’s attached to Cassie with her intense olive eyes and riot of black curls. She stares up at him in reply, brows furrowed and her lips pulled in an angry pout, but only clutches the remains of her doll. Now that the shock of it is wearing off, he feels tired and heavy.

He doesn’t have any more thread and the Brothers won’t let him have more for silly things like toys, not when they have so many kids to clothe. Eugene pulls the loose arm from her and winces at all of the scraps hanging out of her torso. The thread was badly done, to begin with, so he knows its all just going to fall apart now that the rip has been started. If he feels like crying, no one can blame him. He worked hard on the doll for Cassie, even if it was badly made, it was something he made for her. 

She still is clutching the body, though, it’s still a comfort item for her. Eugene can appreciate that, at least. He leans back into the pew and she nestles against him, mumbling something in her baby babble, while he stares up at the ceiling. This sucks.

\------

He is seven to her three to his six when she toddles away from Genie at supper and instead sits by the angry boy who ruined her doll. She’s still angry, she’s consumed by it, it was her only toy and more than that, it was her favorite. It was made for her and it was hers, and Cassandra is incredibly possessive. Genie is hers, the doll was hers; and this newcomer has upset her world by damaging not one, but both.

She doesn’t know his name, doesn’t want to, and when he turns to stare at her, just as angry to see her as she is to see him, she growls. He jumps, and she feels triumph. He is brown like the cinnamon sticks she sees Brother Alexander use sometimes for special treats with hair blacker and thicker than her own, with eyes that are darker than Eugene’s and terrified. Of her.

“Make her better.” Cassandra demands and lays the two pieces of her doll reverently in front of him, “‘S your fault.”

He stares between her and the doll, tense, and she rankles because he has the same look the Brothers’ get when she talks. Genie listens to her, at least, it makes her more angry that no one else does. “Better!” She snaps at him and she leans, trying to loom as much as her tiny frame will allow.

The way he flinches back, curling on himself a little, soothes some of the hurt. It’s the first time someone is scared of her and Cassandra likes it, he’s so much bigger than she is and he’s frightened of her. She is three and he is seven and she is able to make him afraid. The angry is replaced with smug pride, and then alarm when she hears Eugene calling her name.

“Make her better.”

Cassandra pokes a finger into his chest, and then points at her doll, making her demand incredibly clear. She thinks. Genie’s voice calls again and she hops down from the bench to find her way back to him, leaving the dumb bully behind.

“Hey, you’re looking happy!” He exclaims and helps her up, not that she needs it, a hand patting her curls into place. She is all smiles, now, and beams up at him in reply. His smile goes away for a second, however, as he looks her over and then at the surrounding area. The other tables are full of children and Brothers eating together, except for the one table where the bully sits alone.

“... Cassie-lassie, where’s your doll?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her bowl of stew closer to her, stretching up to start eating finally. The food is not bad, which means that Brother Alexander was probably in the kitchens, and she lingers on the potatoes because they’re her favorite part. Genie is definitely watching her, she can feel his eyes heavy on her, but she’s trying to eat and she doesn’t feel like talking more today. It’s exhausting when not many people want to listen to her and she has run out of patience.

Not that she had much of that, to begin with. 

Cassandra blows hard on some of the vegetable chunks, cheeks puffing out, because they’re still not cool enough for her tongue. “Cassie…” Genie sounds weird, like the Brothers when new babies come in, and she peeks through her lashes and bangs up at him to see him staring across again. Maybe he spotted the bully with her doll, but she put it there in his hands. He broke it, he has to fix it. 

He looks like he’s going to get up, tense, his hands braced on the table. Like he’s going to retrieve her doll. Cassandra glowers and reaches out to pinch his arm, making him jump and yelp. “Cassie! That’s not okay, we don’t pinch!” 

Maybe he doesn’t, Cassandra thinks with the continuing glower, but she does. 

Genie looks a few more times over at the bully during dinner, though he doesn’t look like he’s going to go to him anymore and Cassandra distracts him by trying to steal his potatoes from his bowl.

\------

She is three to his seven to his six when he approaches for the second time on his own. There is still a flinch when he gets close, because the tiny curly haired hellion looks like she’s ready to fight and the soft eyed boy seems only a step behind her in that regard. Part of him wants to fight, thinks it will make the aching burning gap in his chest feel less painful. Part of him is aware that the blow to his family jewels did not diminish for a moment how awful he felt, it just made it worse.

The doll was ugly, in all fairness, badly made and didn’t even have a face with lopsided arms. His older sister’s ragdoll was much better made and, while that’s a memory that cuts like blades at him, he remembers the intricacy of it and helping his mother with the stitching on little scrap dresses.

It was a painstaking process to tear the doll apart piece by piece and then unravel cloth for more thread because it was obvious there wasn’t enough. He had to ask one of the caretakers for a needle and then was forced to sit with them so they could make sure he wasn’t causing trouble while he stitched it all back together. 

She’s not as good as his sister’s doll, he knows, but she’s better than what she was. He managed to find a pair of small buttons in the church pews for her eyes, and the tiny line that is her mouth, turned up, is in thicker thread because it was what he had.

“Here.” Arnwaldo has no fanfare, not even sure what to even say, as he shoves the doll at the hellion’s chest. She looks like she is going to fight again, at first, like he has crossed a line by doing that, and then her face lights up and he breathes out in relief. Her brother definitely looked like he was going to fight him, bristled and angry and protective, but now he just looks confused.

“...That’s where your doll went, Cassie?”

He’s ignoring Arnwaldo, it feels like, as he squats down and the girl holds it up for him to see. She looks so delighted by the additions, babbling wildly and pointing to the face while the other boy rocks back on his heels. Maybe he feels a little bit smug because his work is better, that the baby likes his work, but the other boy just kind of brightens and grins to match his sister.

“Now would you look at that, she’s got a face! Not a bad lookin’ one, huh? Ho man, that’s great!” He’s clearly talking to the baby, and she babbles back, excitedly, Arnwaldo kind of understanding the word ‘better’ in the midst of all that mush and mumble. She could learn to talk more clearly, to ‘ee-nun-sea-ate’ like his mom would have said. That makes his chest hurt, again, thinking about his mom. Everything makes him think about his family, right now.

The baby grabs his hand and yanks on it, dragging him into their small huddle. “I’m Eugene,” The boy has an almost fond smile on his face, now, sticking his hand out when the baby lets go, “And this is Cassie-lassie… Sorry she punched you, she’s really attached to her doll.”

It was kind of his fault, he did rip the arm off it-- but he had honestly just been testing the stitches on it and hadn’t expect it to just… tear… like that. “I can show you how to stitch better,” Arnwaldo offers and feels awkward and uneasy, finding a place in this orphanage. Being an orphan. It swells and eats at him, but these two look happy and he doesn’t know how anyone could be happy here. Maybe it's because they have each other?

His offer hangs there, and, then Eugene grins.

“Show me to stitch and I’ll let you read my books.”

The angry bitter feeling is pushed back, a bit, a little, by the feeling of being invited in. He’s been on the fringes of the other kids since he got here because most are babies like the curly haired hellion, but Eugene is his age. 

He doesn’t know how to read, yet, but they all sit together on a pew later and Eugene happily reads his book out loud for him and his sister. He’s still not sure he belongs, just yet, but he feels less like an outsider now.

They are seven, six, and three, and they are probably going to be best friends.


End file.
